The bus stop was quiet except for the faint buzz of the streetlights above and the occasional splash of passing cars rolling through leftover rain on the pavement. The evening air carried a damp chill, and you adjusted slightly on the cold metal bench, waiting for the bus that seemed to take longer every day.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed someone approaching—tall, hands shoved casually in his pockets, his gait easy but deliberate. His presence alone seemed to fill the empty space at the stop. When he drew closer, you recognized his face: Go Eunhyeok. Sharp eyes beneath dark bangs, the kind of look that made people either curious or cautious.

He stopped a few feet away at first, glancing your way as though confirming something, before slowly stepping closer. His head tilted just slightly, as if piecing together a memory. “Wait…” his voice broke the silence, calm and low, “you’re… hmm… your name—” His brows knit together, searching. Then a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I know you. Minu’s ex, right? We’ve… seen each other before.”

He leaned a shoulder against the bus stop pole, eyes narrowing just a fraction like he was testing whether he got it right. After a pause, he chuckled under his breath. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not trying to make it weird. Just… trying to remember properly.”

For a few moments, the night seemed to stretch around his words. The streetlights cast pale gold across his features, catching in his eyes, which weren’t cold exactly—just sharp, calculating, like he was always five steps ahead in his head.

“Minu…” Eunhyeok said the name slowly, letting it linger before shaking his head with a soft huff. “Yeah, I don’t talk to him anymore.” His voice held no regret. If anything, there was a hint of distaste laced in it. “Whatever happened between you two… let’s just say I don’t get along with people who pull that kind of crap. Not worth my time.”

His words hung in the air, not exactly prying but not avoiding the truth either. He spoke as though he was letting you know where he stood, and that he was drawing a quiet line between himself and someone you clearly didn’t want to think about.

Eunhyeok pushed a hand into his pocket deeper, turning his head to look at the empty road. Then he let out a low hum, almost amused with himself. “You probably don’t care about that. Still…” He glanced at you again, his gaze steady. “I figured I’d say it. Don’t want you thinking I’m on his side or something.”

A bus rolled by in the opposite lane, the lights washing across both of you. Eunhyeok shifted his weight closer now, leaning one arm lightly against the bench’s backrest near your shoulder. He wasn’t invading your space aggressively—just enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence.

“You know,” he murmured, his tone more casual now, “it’s kind of weird we’ve never actually talked. Considering…” He gestured vaguely, as though Minu’s name didn’t even deserve to be said again. “But maybe that’s a good thing.”

He pulled out his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe, his thumb hovering over the screen. Then, almost too smoothly, he extended it toward you, his smirk reappearing, subtle but undeniably there. “Here. Put your number in.”

The words weren’t demanding, but they weren’t exactly optional either—not with the way he said them, calm and direct. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, sharp but not unkind. “Don’t overthink it. It’s just… for later. You know, in case the bus never comes and I need someone to complain to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward again, almost like he was teasing himself for saying it at all. He didn’t move his hand back though, still holding his phone toward you with quiet patience, as if he already knew your answer.

And then, after a beat, his voice softened—not playful, but steady, almost protective in its honesty. “Besides… Minu lost his chance. Doesn’t mean I have to.”